Night of Blood
by craftybookreader
Summary: In the world of factions Beatrice isn't sure where to go.(Abnegation)vampire,(Candor-Telepathy),(Erudite-)wizard,(Dauntless-)werewolves,and(candor) animal(soul)shifter.(first fanfic plz read).
1. Chapter 1

_**Hi my lovely readers, this is my first fanfic so if there are any problems with this story please PM me and here goes the first chapter.**_

 _ **In the world of factions Beatrice isn't sure where to go.(Abnegation)vampire,(Candor-Telepathy),(Erudite-)wizard,(Dauntless-)werewolves,and(candor) animal(soul)shifter.(first fanfic plz read).**_

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 **T** here is one mirror in my house. It is behind a sliding panel in the hallway upstairs. Our faction allows me to stand in front of it on the second day of every third month, the day my mother cuts my hair. I sit on the stool and my mother stands behind me with the blade, cutting some hair in the back and trimming the rest. The strands fall on the floor in a dull,loose, blond lock. When she finishes, she pulls my hair away from my face and twists it into a knot. I note how calm and peaceful she is without showing any proper emotion-she looks focused. She is practiced in the art of losing herself. I can say the same of myself. I try to sneak a look at my reflection when she isn't paying attention—not for vanity, but out of curiosity. A lot can happen to a person's appearance in three months. In my reflection, I see a pale narrow face, wide, grey-blue eyes like my father, and a long, thin nose—I still look like a 12 year old girl, even though a few months I turned sixteen. The other factions celebrate birthdays, but we don't. It would be self-indulgent. "There," she says when she pins the knot in place. "So today is the day," she says. "Yes," I reply. "Are you nervous?" I stare into my own eyes for a moment. Today is the day of the aptitude test that will show me which of the five factions I belong in. And tomorrow, at the Choosing Ceremony, I will decide on a faction; I will decide the rest of my life; I will decide to stay with my family or abandon them. "No," I say. "The tests don't have to change our choices." "Right." She smiles."Thank you. For cutting my hair." She kisses my cold cheek and slides the panel over the mirror. We walk together to the kitchen. On these normal mornings when my brother reads, and my father's hand skims my hair as he reads the newspaper, and my mother hums as she clears the table— it is on these mornings that I feel guiltiest for wanting to leave them. The bus stinks of exhaust. Every time it hits a patch of uneven pavement, it jostles me from side to side, even though I'm gripping the seat to keep myself still. My older brother, Caleb, stands in the aisle, holding a railing above his head to keep himself steady. We don't look alike. He has my father's dark hair and hooked nose and my mother's green eyes and dimpled cheeks. When he was younger, that collection of features looked strange, but now it suits him. If he wasn't Abnegation, I'm sure the girls at school would stare at him. He also inherited my mother's talent for selflessness. When I sit down Caleb stands up to give his seat to a we get out of the bus, the Werewolves run causing everyone to backup as they howl all the way to the testing rooms.

 **T** he tests begin after our third class . We sit at the long tables in the cafeteria, and the test administrators call ten names at a time, one for each testing room. I sit next to Caleb and across from our neighbor Susan. Susan's father travels throughout the city for his job, so he has a car and drives her to and from school every day. He offered to drive us, too, but as Caleb says, we prefer to leave later and would not want to inconvenience him. Of course not. The test administrators are mostly Vampire volunteers, although there is an Wizard in one of the testing rooms and a Werewolf in another to test those of us from Vampire, because the rules state that we can't be tested by someone from our own faction. My gaze drifts from Susan to the Werewolf tables across the room. They are laughing,howling and play fighting. At another set of tables, the wizards chatter over books and spells, in constant pursuit of knowledge. A group of Soul shifter girls in yellow and red sit in a circle on the cafeteria floor, playing some kind of hand-slapping game involving animals responding to the songs. Every few minutes I hear a chorus of laughter from them as someone is eliminated and has to sit in the center of the circle. At the table next to them, Telepathy boys make wide gestures with their hands. They appear to be debating about something, but it must not be serious, because some of them are still smiling. At the Vampire table, we sit quietly and wait. Faction customs dictate even idle behavior and supersede individual preference. I doubt all the Wizards want to study all the time, or that every Telepathy enjoys a lively debate, but they can't defy the norms of their factions any more than I can. Caleb's name is called in the next group. He moves confidently toward the exit. I don't need to wish him luck or assure him that he shouldn't be nervous. He knows where he belongs, and as far as I know, he always has. "Just do what you're supposed to," he always says. It is that easy for him. It should be that easy for me. I close my eyes and keep them closed until ten minutes later, when Caleb sits down again. He is wide eyed. He pushes his palms along his legs like I do when I wipe off imaginary sweat, and when he brings them back, his fingers shake. I open my mouth to ask him something, but the words don't come. I am not allowed to ask him about his results, and he is not allowed to tell me.

An Vampire volunteer speaks the next round of names. Two from Werewolves, two from Wizards, two from Soul shifters, two from telepathy, and then: "From Vampire: Susan Black and Beatrice Prior." I get up because I'm supposed to, but if it were up to me, I would LOVE to stay in my seat for the rest of time. I feel like there is a bubble in my chest that expands more by the second, threatening to break me apart from the inside. I follow Susan to the exit. The people I pass probably can't tell us apart. We wear the same clothes and we wear our blond hair the same way. The only difference is that Susan might not feel like she's going to throw up, and from what I can tell, her hands aren't shaking so hard she has to clutch the hem of her shirt to steady them. Waiting for us outside the cafeteria is a row of ten rooms. They are used only for the aptitude tests, so I have never been in one before. Unlike the other rooms in the school, they are separated, not by glass, but by mirrors. I watch myself, pale and terrified, walking toward one of the doors. Susan grins nervously at me as she walks into room 5, and I walk into room 6, where a Werewolf woman waits for me. She is not as wild-looking as the other young Dauntless I have seen. She has small, dark, angular eyes and wears a black jacket and jeans. It is only when she turns to close the door that I see a tattoo on the back of her neck, a black-and-white hawk with a red eye. I would ask her what it signifies if my throat wasn't so tight;it must signify something. Mirrors cover the inner walls of the room. I can see my reflection from all angles: the gray fabric obscuring the shape of my back, my long neck, my knobby-knuckled hands, pale and cold like normal. The ceiling glows white with light. In the center of the room is a reclined chair, like a dentist's, with a machine next to it. It looks like a place where terrible things happen. "Don't worry," the woman says, "it doesn't hurt." Her hair is black and straight, but in the light I see that it is streaked with gray. "Have a seat ," she says. "My name is Tori." Clumsily I sit in the chair and recline, putting my head on the headrest. The lights hurt my eyes. Tori busies herself with the machine on my right. I try to focus on her and not on the wires in her hands. "Why the hawk?" I blurt out as she attaches an electrode to my forehead. "Never met a curious Vampire before," she says, raising her eyebrows at me. I shiver, and goose bumps appear on my arms. My curiosity is a mistake, a betrayal of Vampire values. She presses another electrode to my forehead and explains, "In some parts of the ancient world like abut 4,000 years go **(Authors Note-its about year 4,016)** , the hawk symbolized the sun. Back when I got this, I figured if I always had the sun on me, I wouldn't be afraid of the dark." I try to stop myself from asking another question, but I can't help it. "You're afraid of the dark?" "I was afraid of the dark," she corrects me. She presses the next electrode to her own forehead, and attaches a wire to it. She shrugs. "Now it reminds me of the fear I've overcome." She stands behind me. I squeeze the armrests so tightly the white from my knuckles go whiter if it was possible . She tugs wires toward her, attaching them to me, to her, to the machine behind her. Then she passes me a vial of clear liquid. "Drink this," she says.

I press air from my lungs and tip the contents of the vial into my mouth. My eyes close. When they open, an instant has passed, but I am somewhere else. I stand in the school cafeteria again, but all the long tables are empty. On the table in front of me are two baskets. In one is a hunk of cheese, and in the other, a knife the length of my forearm. Behind me, a woman's voice says, "Choose." "Why?" I ask. "Choose,". I look over my shoulder, but no one is there. I turn back to the baskets. "What will I do with them?" "Choose!" she yells. my building fear disappears and stubbornness replaces it. I scowl and cross my arms. "Have it your way," she says. The baskets disappear. I hear a door squeak and turn to see who it is. A Lion with a pointed claws stands a few yards away from me. It crouches low and creeps toward me, its lips peeling back from its blood-red teeth. A growl gurgles from deep in its throat, and I see why the cheese would have come in handy. Or the knife. But it's too late now. I think about running, but the cat will be faster than me. My head pounds. I have to make a decision. If I can jump over one of the tables and use it as a shield—no, I am too short to jump over the tables, and not strong enough to tip one over. The cat snarls, and I can almost feel the sound vibrating. My biology textbook said that animals can smell fear because of a chemical secreted by human glands in a state of fear, the same chemical a cat's **(I don't know if it's true )** prey secretes. Smelling fear leads them to attack. The cat inches toward me, its Claws scraping the floor. I can't run. I can't fight. Instead I breathe in the smell of the foul breath and try not to think about what it just ate. There are no whites in its eyes, just a black/blue gleam. What else do I know about cats? I shouldn't look it in the eye. That's a sign of aggression. If staring into its eyes is a sign of aggression, what's a sign of submission? My breaths are loud but steady. I sink to my knees. The last thing I want to do is lie down on the ground in front of the Cat—making its teeth level with my face—but it's the best option I have. It creeps closer, and closer, until I feel its warm breath on my face. My arms are shaking. It barks in my ear, and I clench my teeth to keep from screaming. Something rough and wet touches my hand. The cat's growling stops, and when I lift my head to look at it again, it is purring. It licked my hand."You're not such a vicious beast, huh?". I blink, and when my eyes open, a child stands across the room wearing a white dress and squeals, "Kitty!" As she runs toward the dog at my side, I open my mouth to warn her, but I am too late. The dog turns. Instead of About to pounce. I don't think, I just jump; I hurl my body on top of the dog, wrapping my arms around its thick neck. My head hits the ground .

I push the door open and walk into the hallway, but it isn't a hallway; it's a bus, and all the seats are taken. I stand in the aisle and hold on to a pole. Sitting near me is a man with a newspaper. I can't see his face over the top of the paper, but I can see his hands. They are scarred, like he was burned, and they clench around the paper like he wants to crumple it. "Do you know this guy?" he asks. He taps the picture on the front page of the newspaper. The headline reads: "Brutal Murderer Finally Apprehended!" I stare at the word "murderer." It has been a long time since I last read that word, but even its shape fills me with dread. In the picture beneath the headline is a young man with a plain face and a beard. I feel like I do know him, though I don't remember how. And at the same time, I feel like it would be a bad idea to tell the man that. "Well?" I hear anger in his voice. "Do you?" I shrug my shoulders. "Well?" A shudder goes through me. My fear is irrational; this is just a test, it isn't real. "Nope," I say, my voice casual. "No idea who he is." He stands, and finally I see his face. He wears dark sunglasses and his mouth is bent into a snarl. His cheek is rippled with scars, like his hands. He leans close to my face. "You're lying," he says. "You're lying!"he snarls "I am not." "I can see it in your eyes." I pull myself up straighter. "You can't." "If you know him," he says in a low voice, "you could save me. You could save me!" I narrow my eyes. "Well," I say. I set my jaw. "I don't.

I am lying in the chair in the mirrored room. When I tilt my head back, I see Tori behind me. She removes electrodes from our heads. I wait for her to say something about the test—that it's over, or that I did well, although how could I do poorly on a test like this?—but she says nothing, just pulls the wires from my forehead.. I had to have done something wrong, even if it only happened in my mind. Is that strange look on Tori's face because she doesn't know how to tell me what a terrible person I am? I wish she would just come out with it. "That," she says, "was perplexing. Excuse me, I'll be right back." Perplexing?. I wish I felt like crying, because the tears might bring me a sense of release, but I can't because i'm a Vampire. How can you fail a test you aren't allowed to prepare for? As the moments pass, I get more nervous. I have to wipe off my hands every few seconds as the sweat collects—or maybe I just do it because it helps me feel calmer. What if they tell me that I'm not cut out for any faction? I would have to live on the streets, with the powerless. I can't do that. To live powerless is not just to live in poverty and discomfort; it is to live divorced from society, separated from the most important thing in life: community. My mother told me once that we can't survive alone, but even if we could, we wouldn't want to. Without a faction, we have no purpose and no reason to live. I shake my head. I can't think like this. I have to stay calm. Finally the door opens, and Tori walks back in. I grip the arms of the chair. "Sorry to worry you," Tori says. She stands by my feet with her hands in her pockets. She looks tense and pale. "Beatrice, your results were inconclusive," she says. "Typically, each stage of the simulation eliminates one or more of the factions, but in your case, only two have been ruled out." I stare at her. "Two?" I ask. My throat is so tight it's hard to talk. "If you had shown an automatic distaste for the knife and selected the cheese, the simulation would have led you to a different scenario that confirmed your aptitude for Soul shifter. That didn't happen, which is why Soul shifter is out." Tori scratches the back of her neck and i think i see her pant a bit.

"Normally, the simulation progresses in a linear fashion, isolating one faction by ruling out the rest. The choices you made didn't even allow Telepathy, the next possibility, to be ruled out, so I had to alter the simulation to put you on the bus."only the Telepathy dont lie" One of the knots in my chest loosens. Maybe I'm not an awful person. "I suppose that's not entirely true. People who tell the truth are the Telepathy…and the Vampires," she says. My mouth falls open. "On the one hand, you threw yourself on the dog rather than let it attack the little girl, which is an Vampire-oriented response…but on the other, when the man told you that the truth would save him, you still refused to tell it. Not an Vampire-oriented response." She sighs. "Not running from the dog suggests Werewolf, but so does taking the knife, which you didn't do." She clears her throat and continues. "Your intelligent response to the dog indicates strong alignment with the Wizards. My conclusion," she explains, "is that People who get this kind of result are…" are called…Factious." She says the last word so quietly that I almost don't hear it, and her tense, worried look returns. She walks around the side of the chair and leans in close to me. "Beatrice," she says, "under no circumstances should you share that information with anyone. This is very important." "We aren't supposed to share our results." I nod. "I know that." I mean you should never share them with anyone, ever, no matter what happens. Factious is extremely dangerous. You understand?" "Okay." and stand. I feel unsteady. "I suggest," Tori says, "that you go home. You have a lot of thinking to do, and waiting with the others may not benefit you." I can't bear to think about the Choosing Ceremony tomorrow. It's my choice now, no matter what the test says. Wizard,Werewolf,Vampire. Factious

If I get home early, my father will notice , and I'll have to explain what happened. Instead I walk. I walk in the middle of the road. Sometimes, on the streets near my house, I can see places where the yellow lines used to be. We have no use for them now that there are so few cars. We don't need stoplights, either, but in some places they dangle precariously over the road like they might crash down any minute. Renovation moves slowly through the city, which is a patchwork of new, clean buildings and old, crumbling ones. Most of the new buildings are next to the marsh, which used to be a lake a long time ago. The Vampire volunteer agency my mother works for is responsible for most of those renovations. When I watch my family move in harmony; when we go to dinner parties and everyone cleans together afterward without having to be asked; when I see Caleb help strangers carry their groceries, I fall in love with this life all over again. It's only when I try to live it myself that I have trouble. It never feels genuine. But choosing a different faction means I forsake my family. Permanently. Just past the Vampire sector of the city is the stretch of building skeletons and broken sidewalks that I now walk through. There are places where the road has completely collapsed, revealing sewer systems and empty subways that I have to be careful to avoid, and places that stink so powerfully of sewage and trash that I have to plug my nose. This is where the powerless live. Because they failed to complete initiation into whatever faction they chose, they live in poverty, doing the work no one else wants to do. They are janitors and construction workers and garbage collectors; they make fabric and operate trains and drive buses. In return for their work they get food and clothing, but, as my mother says, not enough of either. I see a powerless man standing on the corner up ahead. He wears ragged brown clothing and skin sags from his jaw. He stares at me, and I stare back at him, unable to look away. "Excuse me," he says. His voice is raspy. "Do you have something I can eat?" I feel a lump in my throat. A stern voice in my head says, Duck your head and keep walking. No. I shake my head. I should not be afraid of this man. He needs help and I am supposed to help him. "Um…yes," I say. I reach into my bag. My father tells me to keep food in my bag at all times for exactly this reason. I offer the man a small bag of dried apple slices. He reaches for them, but instead of taking the bag, his hand closes around my wrist. He smiles at me. He has a gap between his front teeth. "My, don't you have pretty eyes," he says. "It's a shame the rest of you is so plain." My heart pounds. I tug my hand back, but his grip tightens. I smell something acrid and unpleasant on his breath. "You look a little young to be walking around by yourself, dear," he says. I stop tugging, and stand up straighter. I know I look young; I don't need to be reminded. "I'm older than I look," I retort. "I'm sixteen." His lips spread wide, revealing a gray molar with a dark pit in the side. I can't tell if he's smiling or grimacing. "Then isn't today a special day for you? The day before you choose?" "Let go of me," I say. I hear ringing in my ears. My voice sounds clear and stern—not what I expected to hear. I feel like it doesn't belong to me. I am ready. I know what to do. I picture myself bringing my elbow back and hitting him. I see the bag of apples flying away from me. I hear my running footsteps. I am prepared to act. But then he releases my wrist, takes the apples, and says, "Choose wisely, little girl."


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N - I will try to update every week on either (my)Tuesday,Thursday or Sunday**_

 _ **I do not own divergent because all credit goes to veronica Roth**_

I reach my street fifty minutes before I usually do because of my slight speed that my brother doesn't have, according to my watch—which is the only adornment Vampire technology allows, and only because it's practical. It has a gray band and a glass face. If I tilt it right, I can almost see my reflection over the hands but i cant see anything but my lips . The houses on my street are all the same size and shape. They are made of gray cement, with few dark windows, in rectangles. Their lawns are short grass and our mail comes in a bag that is cheap. To some the sight might be gloomy or haunted, but to me their simplicity is comforting. The reason for the simplicity isn't scornful for uniqueness. The other factions have sometimes interpreted it. Everything—our houses, our clothes, our hairstyles—is meant to help us forget ourselves and to protect us from vanity, greed, and envy, which are just forms of selfishness. If we have little, and want for little, and we are all equal, we envy no one. I try to like it. I sit on the front step and wait for Caleb to arrive. It doesn't take long. After a minute I see gray robed forms speed walking down the street. I hear laughter. At school we try not to draw attention to ourselves, but once we're home, the games and jokes start. My natural tendency toward sarcasm is still not appreciated. Sarcasm is always at someone's expense. Maybe it's better that vampires wants me to suppress it. Maybe I don't have to leave my family. Maybe if I fight to make Vampire work, my act will turn into reality. "Beatrice!" Caleb says. "What happened? Are you all right?" "I'm fine." He is with Susan and her brother, Robert, and Susan is giving me a strange look, like I am a different person than the one she knew this morning. I shrug. "When the test was over, I got sick. Must have been that liquid they gave us. I feel better now, though." I try to smile convincingly. I seem to have persuaded Susan and Robert, who no longer look concerned for my mental stability, but Caleb narrows his eyes at me, the way he does when he suspects someone of duplicity. "Did you two take the bus today?" I ask. I don't care how Susan and Robert got home from school, but I need to change the subject. "Our father had to work late," Susan says, "and he told us we should spend some time thinking before the ceremony tomorrow." My heart pounds at the mention of the ceremony. "You're welcome to come over later, if you'd like," Caleb says politely. "Thank you." Susan smiles at Caleb. Robert raises an eyebrow at me. He and I have been exchanging looks for the past year as Susan and Caleb flirt in the tentative way known only to the vampire and/or soul shifter . Caleb's eyes follow Susan down the walk. I have to grab his arm to startle him from his daze. I lead him into the house and close the door behind us. He turns to me. His dark, straight eyebrows draw together so that a crease appears between them. When he frowns, he looks more like my mother than my father. In an instant I can see him living the same kind of life my father did: staying in Vampire, learning a trade, marrying Susan,helping others, and having a family. It will be wonderful. I may not see it. "Are you going to tell me the truth now?" he asks softly.

"The truth is," I say, "I'm not supposed to discuss it. And you're not supposed to ask." "All those rules you bend, and you can't bend this one? Not even for something this important?" His eyebrows tug together, and he bites the corner of his lip with a little blood as he scowls a bit because his fang like teeth got caught on to his shirt hem when he tried to wipe of the blood ."let me help you with that"says my vampire mind .his words from earlier are accusatory, it sounds like he is probing me for information—like he actually wants my answer, very wizard like . I narrow my eyes. "Will you?... What happened in your test, Caleb?".Oops i'm not supposed to question neither is he. Our eyes meet. I hear a train horn, so faint it could easily be wind whistling through an alleyway. But I know it when I hear it. It sounds like the Werewolves, calling me to them. "Just…don't tell our parents what happened, okay?" I say. His eyes stay on mine for a few seconds, and then he nods. I want to go upstairs and lie upside down on the edge of my he bed . The test, the run, and my encounter with the factionless man exhausted me. But my brother made breakfast this morning, and my mother prepared our lunches, and my father made dinner last night, so it's my turn to cook. I breathe deeply and walk into the kitchen to start cooking. A minute later, Caleb joins me. I grit my teeth. He helps with everything. What irritates me most about him is his natural goodness, his inborn selflessness. Caleb and I work together without speaking. I cook peas on the stove. He defrosts four pieces of chicken. Most of what we eat is frozen or canned, because farms these days are far away. My mother told me once that, a long time ago, there were people who wouldn't buy genetically engineered produce because they viewed it as unnatural. Now we have no other option. By the time my parents get home, dinner is ready and the table is set. My father drops his bag at the door and kisses my head. Other people see him as an opinionated man—too opinionated, maybe—but he's also loving. I try to see only the good in him; I try. "How did the test go?" he asks me. I pour the peas into a serving bowl. "Fine," I say. I couldn't be Candor. I lie too easily. "I heard there was some kind of upset with one of the tests," my mother says. Like my father, she works for the government, but she manages city improvement projects. She recruited volunteers to administer the aptitude tests. Most of the time, though, she organizes workers to help the factionless with food and shelter and job opportunities. "Really?" says my father. A problem with the aptitude tests is rare. "I don't know much about it, but my friend Saprin told me that something went wrong with one of the tests, so the results had to be reported verbally." My mother places a napkin next to each plate on the table. "Apparently the student got sick and was sent home early."

My mother shrugs. "I hope they're all right. Did you two hear about that?" "No," Caleb says. He smiles at my mother. My brother couldn't be Candor either. We sit at the table. We always pass food to the right, and no one eats until everyone is served. My father extends his hands to my mother and my brother, and they extend their hands to him and me, and my father gives us a special ?my mother gets a red liquid and pours it I Caleb's and my goblets. My mother explains about the tradition of vampires of the night before the ceremonies vampires children gets to have a Goblet of goats blood "So," my mother says to my father. "Tell me." She takes my father's hand and moves her thumb in a small circle over his knuckles. I stare at their joined hands. My parents love each other, but they rarely show affection like this in front of us. They taught us that physical contact is powerful, so I have been wary of it since I was young. "Tell me what's bothering you," she adds. I stare at the goblet. My mother's acute senses sometimes surprise me, but now they chide me. Why was I so focused on myself that I didn't notice his deep frown and his sagging posture? "I had a difficult day at work," he says. "Well, really, it was Marcus who had the difficult day. I shouldn't lay claim to it." Marcus is my father's coworker; they are both political leaders. The city is ruled by a council of fifty people, composed entirely of representatives from Vampires, because our faction is regarded as incorruptible, due to our commitment to selflessness. Our leaders are selected by their peers for their impeccable character, moral fortitude, and leadership skills. Representatives from each of the other factions can speak in the meetings on behalf of a particular issue, but ultimately, the decision is the council's. And while the council technically makes decisions together, Marcus is particularly influential. It has been this way since the beginning of the great peace, when the factions were formed. I think the system persists because we're afraid of what might happen if it didn't: war. "Is this about that report Jeanine Matthews released?" my mother says. Jeanine Matthews is Erudite's sole representative, selected based on her IQ score. My father complains about her often. I look up. "A report?" Caleb gives me a warning look. We aren't supposed to speak at the dinner table unless our parents ask us a direct question, and they usually don't. Our listening ears are a gift to them, my father says. They give us their listening ears after dinner, in the family room. "Yes," my father says. His eyes narrow. "Those arrogant, self-righteous—" He stops and clears his throat. "Sorry. But she released a report attacking Marcus's character." I raise my eyebrows. "What did it say?" I ask. "Beatrice," Caleb says quietly. I duck my head, turning my fork over and over and over until the warmth leaves my cheeks. I don't like to be chastised. Especially by my brother. "It said," my father says, "that Marcus's violence and cruelty toward his son is the reason his son chose Werewolves instead of Vampires." "Cruel? Marcus?" My mother shakes her head. "That poor man. As if he needs to be reminded of his loss." "Of his son's betrayal, you mean?" my father says coldly. "I shouldn't be surprised at this point. The Wizards have been attacking us with these reports for months. And this isn't the end. There will be more, I guarantee it." I shouldn't speak again, but I can't help myself. I blurt out, I look across the table at Caleb, who has that look of disapproval in his eyes. I stare at my peas. I am not sure I can live this life of obligation any longer. I am not good enough. Valuing knowledge above all else results in a lust for power, and that leads men into dark and empty places. We should be thankful that we know better." I nod. I know I will not choose Wizard, even though my test results suggested that I could. I am my father's daughter. My parents clean up after dinner. They don't even let Caleb help them, because we're supposed to keep to ourselves tonight instead of gathering in the family room, so we can think about our results. My family might be able to help me choose, if I could talk about my results. But I can't. Tori's warning whispers in my memory every time my resolve to keep my mouth shut falters. Caleb and I climb the stairs and, at the top, when we divide to go to our separate bedrooms, he stops me with a hand on my shoulder. "Beatrice," he says, looking sternly into my eyes. "We should think of our family." There is an edge to his voice. "But. But we must also think of ourselves." For a moment I stare at him. I have never seen him think of himself, never heard him insist on anything but selflessness. I am so startled by his comment that I just say what I am supposed to say: "The tests don't have to change our choices." He smiles a little. "Don't they, though?" . I peer into his room and see an unmade bed and a stack of books on his desk. He closes the door. I wish I could tell him that we're going through the same thing. I wish I could speak to him like I want to instead of like I'm supposed to. But the idea of admitting that I need help is too much to bear, so I turn away. I walk into my room, and when I close my door behind me, I realize that the decision might be simple. It will require a great act of selflessness to choose Abnegation, or a great act of courage to choose Dauntless, and maybe just choosing one over the other will prove that I belong. Tomorrow, those two qualities will struggle within me, and only one can win.

"Hurry up Beatrice, we're going to miss the bus!" The bus we take to get to the Choosing Ceremony is full of people in gray shirts and gray slacks. A pale ring of sunlight burns into the clouds like the end of a lit cigarette. I will never smoke one myself —they are closely tied to vanity—but a crowd of Telepathy smokes them in front of the building when we get off the bus. I have to tilt my head back to see the top of the Hub, and even then, part of it disappears into the clouds. It is the tallest building in the city. I can see the lights on the two prongs on its roof from my bedroom window. I follow my parents off the bus. Caleb seems calm, but so would I, if I knew what I was going to do. Instead I get the distinct impression that my heart will burst out of my chest any minute now, and I grab his arm to steady myself as I walk up the front steps. The elevator is crowded, so my father volunteers to give a cluster of our place. We climb the stairs instead, following him unquestioningly. We set an example for our fellow faction members, and soon the three of us are engulfed in the mass of gray fabric ascending cement stairs in the half light. I settle into their pace. The uniform pounding of feet in my ears and the homogeneity of the people around me makes me believe that I could choose this. I could be subsumed into Vampire's hive mind, projecting always outward. But then my legs get sore, and I struggle to breathe, and I am again distracted by myself. We have to climb twenty flights of stairs to get to the Choosing Ceremony. My father holds the door open on the twentieth floor and stands like a sentry as every Vampire walks past him. I would wait for him, but the crowd presses me forward, out of the stairwell and into the room where I will decide the rest of my life. The room is arranged in concentric circles. On the edges stand the sixteen-year-olds of every faction. We are not called members yet; our decisions today will make us initiates, and we will become members if we complete initiation. We arrange ourselves in alphabetical order, according to the last names we may leave behind today. I stand between Caleb and Mariell Anntro, an soul shifter girl with rosy cheeks and a yellow dress. Rows of chairs for our families make up the next circle.

They are arranged in five sections, according to faction. Not everyone in each faction comes to the Choosing Ceremony, but enough of them come that the crowd looks huge. The responsibility to conduct the ceremony rotates from faction to faction each year, and this year is Vampire's. Marcus will give the opening address and read the names in reverse alphabetical order. Caleb will choose before me for some reason. In the last circle are five metal bowls so large they could hold my entire body, if I curled up. Each one contains a substance that represents each faction: gray stones for Vampires simplicity, water for Wizards knowledge , earth for Soul shifter kindness, lit coals for Werewolves bravery, and glass for Telepathy's clear honesty . When Marcus calls my name, I will walk to the center of the three circles. I will not speak. He will offer me a knife. I will cut into my hand and sprinkle my blood into the bowl of the faction I choose. My blood on the stones. My blood sizzling on the coals. Before my parents sit down, they stand in front of Caleb and me. My father kisses my forehead and claps Caleb on the shoulder, grinning. "See you soon," he says. Without a trace of doubt. My mother hugs me, and what little resolve I have left almost breaks. I clench my jaw and stare up at the ceiling, where globe lanterns hang and fill the room with blue light. She holds me for what feels like a long time, even after I let my hands fall. Before she pulls away, she turns her head and whispers in my ear, "I love you. No matter what." I frown at her back as she walks away. She knows what I might do. She must know, or she wouldn't feel the need to say that. Caleb grabs my hand, squeezing my palm so tightly it hurts, but I don't let go. The last time we held hands was at my uncle's funeral, as my father cried. We need each other's strength now, just as we did then. The room slowly comes to order. I should be observing the Dauntless; I should be taking in as much information as I can, but I can only stare at the lanterns across the room. I try to lose myself in the blue glow. Marcus stands at the podium between the Erudite and the Dauntless and clears his throat into the microphone. "Welcome," he says. "Welcome to the Choosing Ceremony.

Welcome to the day we honor the democratic philosophy of our ancestors, which tells us that every man has the right to choose his own way in this world." Or, it occurs to me, one of five predetermined ways. I squeeze Caleb's fingers as hard as he is squeezing mine. "Our dependents are now sixteen. They stand on the precipice of adulthood, and it is now up to them to decide what kind of people they will be." Marcus's voice is solemn and gives equal weight to each word. "Decades ago our ancestors realized that it is not political ideology, religious belief, race, or nationalism that is to blame for a warring world. Rather, they determined that it was the fault of super natural personality—of all kind's inclination toward evil, in whatever form that is. They divided into factions that sought to eradicate those qualities they believed responsible for the world's disarray." My eyes shift to the bowls in the center of the room. What do I believe? I do not know; I do not know; I do not know. "Those who blamed aggression formed Soulshifter's." The Soulshifter's exchange smiles. They are dressed comfortably, in red or yellow. Every time I see them, they seem kind, loving, free. But joining them has never been an option for me. "Those who blamed ignorance became the Wizards" Ruling out Wizard was the only part of my choice that was easy. "Those who blamed duplicity created telepathy." I have never liked telepathy. "Those who blamed selfishness made vampires." I blame selfishness; I do. "And those who blamed cowardice were the Werewolves." But I am not selfless enough. Sixteen years of trying and I am not enough. My legs go numb, like all the life has gone out of them, and I wonder how I will walk when my name is called. "Working together, these five factions have lived in peace for many years, each contributing to a different sector of society. Vampire has fulfilled our need for selfless leaders in government; Telepathy has provided us with trustworthy and sound leaders in law and court; Wizards has supplied us with intelligent teachers and researchers; Soulshifters has given us understanding counselors,food and caretakers; and Werewolves provides us with protection from threats both within and without the gate. But the reach of each faction is not limited to these areas. We give one another far more than can be adequately summarized. In our factions, we find meaning, we find purpose, we find life." I think of the motto I read in my Faction History textbook: Faction before blood. More than family, our factions are where we belong. Can that possibly be right? Marcus adds, "Apart from them, we would not survive." The silence that follows his words is heavier than other silences. It is heavy with our worst fear, greater even than the fear of death: to be factionless. Marcus continues, "Therefore this day marks a happy occasion—the day on which we receive our new initiates, who will work with us toward a better society and a better world." A round of applause. It sounds muffled. I try to stand completely still, because if my knees are locked and my body is stiff, I don't shake. Marcus reads the first names, but I can't tell one syllable from the other. How will I know when he calls my name? One by one, each sixteen-year-old steps out of line and walks to the middle of the room. The room is constantly moving, a new name and a new person choosing, a new knife and a new choice. I recognize most of them, but I doubt they know me. I am in deep thought when they say "Caleb Prior," says Marcus. Caleb squeezes my hand one last time, and as he walks away, casts a long look at me over his shoulder. I watch his feet move to the center of the room, and his hands, steady as they accept the knife from Marcus, are deft as one presses the knife into the other. Then he stands with blood pooling in his palm, and his lip snags on his teeth. He breathes out. And then in. And then he holds his hand over the Wizard bowl, and his blood drips into the water, turning it a deeper shade of red. I hear mutters that lift into outraged cries. I can barely think straight. My brother, my selfless brother, wizard a faction transfer? When I close my eyes, I see the stack of books on Caleb's desk, and his shaking hands sliding along his legs after the aptitude test. Why didn't I realize that when he told me to think of myself yesterday, he was also giving that advice to himself? "Excuse me," says Marcus, but the crowd doesn't hear him. He shouts, "Quiet, please!" The room goes silent. Except for a ringing sound. I hear my name and a shudder propels me forward. Halfway to the bowls,

I am sure that I will choose Vampire. I can see it now. I watch myself grow into a woman wearing robes, marrying Susan's brother, Robert, volunteering on the weekends, the peace of routine, the quiet nights spent in front of the fireplace, the certainty that I will be safe, and if not good enough, better than I am now. The ringing, I realize, is in my ears. I look at Caleb, who now stands behind the Wizard. He stares back at me and nods a little, like he knows what I'm thinking, and agrees. My footsteps falter. If Caleb wasn't fit for this life, how can I be? But what choice do I have, now that he left us and I'm the only one who remains? He left me no other option. I set my jaw. I will be the child that stays; I have to do this for my parents. I have to. Marcus offers me my knife. I look into his eyes—they are dark blue, a strange color—and take it. He nods, and I turn toward the bowls. The Werewolf fire and the vampire stones are both on my left, one in front of my shoulder and one behind. I hold the knife in my right hand and touch the blade to my pale palm. Gritting my teeth, I drag the blade down. It stings, but I barely notice. I hold both hands to my chest, and my next breath shudders on the way out. I open my eyes and thrust my arm out. My blood drips onto the carpet between the two bowls. Then, with a gasp I can't contain, I shift my hand forward, and my blood sizzles on the coals. I am selfish. I am brave.


End file.
